The Gay Lord Quex - BestLightNovel.com
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SOPHY.
Oh, my poor darling!
BASTLING.
I must see her again to-morrow. I've something serious to propose to her.
SOPHY.
[_Half in eagerness, half in fright._] Have you?
BASTLING.
But to-morrow it must be alone, Sophy; I can't say what I have to say in a few hasty whispers, with all your girls flitting about--and perhaps a customer or two here. Alone!
SOPHY.
Without me?
BASTLING.
Surely you can trust us. To-morrow at twelve. You'll manage it?
SOPHY.
How can I--alone?
BASTLING.
You're our only friend. Think!
SOPHY.
[_Glancing suddenly towards the left._] Valma's rooms!
[FRAYNE _has wandered to the back of the circular table, and, through his eyegla.s.s, is again observing_ SOPHY. QUEX _now joins him._
BASTLING.
[_Perceiving them--to_ SOPHY.] Look out!
SOPHY.
[_Taking a bottle from his hand--raising her voice._] You'll receive the perfume in the course of the afternoon. [_Replacing the bottle upon the table._] Shall I do your nails?
BASTLING.
Thanks.
[_They move away. He takes his place in the screen-chair; she sits facing him. During the process of manicuring they talk together earnestly._
FRAYNE.
[_Eyeing_ SOPHY.] Slim, but shapely. Slim, but shapely.
MISS MOON _enters, with a bowl of water. Having adjusted the bowl upon the arm of the screen-chair, she retires._
FRAYNE.
There's another of 'em. Plain. [_Watching_ MISS MOON _as she goes out._]
I don't know--rather alluring. [_Finding_ QUEX _by his side._] Beg your pardon.
QUEX.
Didn't hear you.
FRAYNE.
Glad of it. At the same time, old friend, you will forgive me for remarking that a man's virtuous resolutions must be--ha, ha!--somewhat feeble, hey?--when he flinches at the mere admiration of beauty on the part of a pal, connoisseur through that pal undoubtedly is.
QUEX.
Oh, my dear Chick, my resolutions are firm enough.
FRAYNE.
[_Dubiously._] H'm!
QUEX.
And my prudery is consistent with the most laudable intentions, I a.s.sure you. But the fact is, dear chap, I go in fear and trembling--
FRAYNE.
Ah!
QUEX.
No, no, not for my strength of mind--fear lest any trivial act of mine, however guileless; the most innocent glance in the direction of a decent-looking woman; should be misinterpreted by the good ladies in whose hands I have placed myself--especially aunt Julia. You remember Lady Owbridge?
FRAYNE.
Why did you intrust yourself--?
QUEX.
My one chance! [_Taking_ FRAYNE _to the table, against which they both lean shoulder to shoulder--his voice falling into a strain of tenderness._] Chick, when I fell in love with Miss Eden--
